The water in this river would rise at most to the middle of her shin, usually only reaching her ankle. But it was there, with its dangers. Alina didn't even have time to stretch out her hands; the shove came so unexpectedly. Then a loud crack. Her scream was drowned by the splashing water.
Cool liquid rushed down her throat, poured into her lungs, unloading all its painful force there. A repetition of her ordeal from a few days ago. Air! She had to go up!
Alina pushed her hands to the bottom of the river. In her panic, it felt like the water was pulling her into an endless depth. It took some effort until she had her body back to the surface. She coughed out the annoying drops of water forcefully and was glad to be able to fill her lungs with air again. With each breath, her lungs hurt, but it was bearable and would soon pass.
She laughed with relief as she felt the horse's muzzle touching her buttocks, where she kept a few strawberries. With her hand, she shooed the animal away before the spot became muddy and red. Instead, she reached into the hidden pocket herself.
Both of them were a distance away from the couple. Perhaps Alina's scream and the crack from her belly flop remained hidden from them, just like her laughter. But now the impatient horse raised its head to a loud neigh.
"Thank you!" Alina called out cheerfully, oblivious to the danger. Her fingers grabbed the berries. She offered one to the animal. "Your master taught you that." She pushed the second berry between her lips. It wasn't right to praise the animal for its disobedience, Alina knew.
Another stroke of her wet hand over the horse's forehead, then she looked forward. The strands of her blond hair hung wet on her face. A thick drop of water rolled down her forehead and fell down her eyebrow into the water. Alina would usually wipe the water from her forehead and cheeks, but at that moment, she did nothing. She sat motionless on hands and knees. Her gaze flowed up a sword to a powerful hand that led it under her chin.
"Who are you?" demanded the man sternly in front of her.
She had probably been mistaken about the couple. The woman wrapped her arms around the partner's arm from behind, but seemed interested in the girl before her. The man, however, was distrustful. He didn't know how to assess Alina. A danger to his wife or just a foolish girl who had wandered into this area?
His hand bore some scars, just like his cheek. The rest of his body was covered in fabric, but would also bear signs of won battles. His black hair was medium-length, his gray eyes looked frighteningly cold to the girl. A man who would kill without hesitation. She was truly trapped.
"A-Alina," the girl answered hesitantly and much too honestly. She should have lied. "I'm a dancer and on my way to a performance."
The man's lips curled into a dangerous smile.
"Alina, then. A dancer and surely from Miro." He interpreted her gulp as confirmation of his suspicion. "You're different from what's rumored."
She put on a smile. "In my performances, I usually appear in neat clothing," she said. She still hoped to create the impression of a naive thing in him. She didn't want to harm either of them. In an emergency, though, she would feel compelled to act. He just needed to lower his sword.
"I would have imagined a delicate noblewoman, not such a dirty thing. After all, it's said everywhere that you're to marry Judge Beldor's youngest son."
That damned Beldor! Why did he have to spread this alleged engagement so widely? Was the better society of all three countries not enough for him? Did now even riffraff have to know about his desire? Beldor thought he was not leaving her any way out. It hadn't worked so far. Alina possessed a strong will that no one would break.
"That's not true," the girl said from her undignified position. The blade near her throat slid under her chin, so she had to follow the movement. "If you would stop that and lower your sword. I'm a dancer of humble origin. My father and I only have our school and students, of which a small part is capable of paying fees. The rest are simple farmers. My performances secure them shelter and food."
Which was true. She omitted the rest, the sometimes lucrative bounty.
It was no use. The blade pressed back to her throat.
Alina felt the cool metal dangerously close with every swallow. It only took one well-aimed cut.
"Please!" She put something pleading in her voice. "My father said I should speak to the thief Morlo if danger threatens me on this journey."
The woman at his side dared to step forward. For a moment, her beautiful brown eyes widened. She interpreted every feature in the girl's face, and Alina didn't know why, but the woman seemed to feel both joy and pain equally.
Her husband showed less interest. Rather, a certain pleasure at seeing her humiliated before him.
"The girl doesn't look dangerous to me," said the woman. She nestled closer to her companion.
"A truly beautiful find," said the man with a grim smile. "The betrothed of Judge Beldor's youngest son. What do you think, by how much could we lighten the old man's load? He snorted unimpressed. "A little dancing mouse. He's sold his sons for more before. But who knows what games such a cheap thing might stoop to."
The sword lowered, and Alina jumped up at the same moment.
"I am not Ero's fiancée!" Alina threw her angry words at this impertinent man. Immediately, the sword was back in its rightful place under her throat.
This time, Alina wasn't impressed.
She hated this damned rumor.
"Ero has been learning in our school for years and also teaches some of the other students, but we are only friends. Nothing more!"
"Ha!" The man spat. He would have liked to rebuke the girl before him with a strong blow, but restrained himself in the presence of his beloved. "Should I believe a woman who is already supposed to share a bed with the hangman's son?"
The eyes of both glared at each other with equal fury. Alina's hand trembled. The sword had to disappear, then she could open her bag of tricks. Just a little way down to have enough room to dodge.
She and Ero were friends. It was terrible how this rumor had been twisted.
"Dugol," the woman at his side called out. Her hands reached for his face. "Calm down! It's just a girl, maybe she really is traveling."
That name. Dugol. Just as her name was known to him, Alina knew his.
Morlo's only son was named Dugol and was already praised as his successor. If the son acted as harshly, how must his father be, who held a large camp of the most dangerous men under control? And what did Alina's father have to do with this gang?
"You know the rumors!" The man bared his teeth. "Nerre has hired an assassin."
Assassin, murderer, under those words, every muscle in her body painfully tensed. When had she ever insisted on being called that? Who came up with this idea?
"And you think this girl could take on such a role?" The woman burst out laughing. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Do you also know what they say about this girl?" he asked his wife with relentless hardness in his voice. "Her performances are survived by only a few. She is protected by that murderous angel."